Trip
by Harold Trilby
Summary: One-shot. A mixed squad of humans and Elites goes hunting for a Brute commander on the Ark.


Sand. Sand everywhere on this god-forsaken disk, or whatever this place was. Trip grimaced as the Phantom he was in raced over the ground. He already disliked this place. Too dry, too empty. It felt unused. Most land had a used feeling to it. People lived on it, farmed it, died on it. But this. Nobody lived on this.

The Phantom jostled as some fuel rod flak exploded nearby. "Eeack!" Trip exclaimed, reaching out and holding onto the side of the loading bay. "Can't these motherfuckers shoot any worse?"

"I am surprised they are getting this close to us," said the Elite across from him, a red-armored one named Unas Moramee. "Their fervor must be great."

Trip frowned. "I'm beginnin' tah get a fervor of mah own," he drawled, hefting his sniper rifle into his lap. "When dah we get tah this 'Mareeallus' shit?"

Unas tilted his head a little to the side, considering something in his mind. "Marriallus should not be much farther ahead," he replied at last.

"I still don't see why we're going after just one guy," said Pvt. Morrigan from her seat beside Trip.

"Every commander they lose sends them further into disarray," Unas responded as he looked over his carbine.

"And more of the blood debt towards our retribution is paid," growled Mra Ikanporamee, Unas's second in command, from where he sat next to the other Elite.

Trip gave a dark grin of agreement. "I heard that, squidlip."

Mra frowned and flexed his mandibles, confused by the human's figure of speech. Before he could come to some kind of decision about it though, the Phantom lurched again. It jostled everyone about, sending Trip into another bout of cursing.

"San!" Unas called forward to the pilot, San Vatumee. "Can you bring us below their air defenses?"

"I am flying as low as is prudent, Commander," San replied. "They have more anti-air Wraiths than we expected."

"Marriallus protects himself well," Mra commented in a grudging tone.

Trip shrugged. "It won' be good 'nough 'gainst us," he commented in his thick drawl.

Mra looked dumbly at the sniper for a moment. Then he looked over at Morrigan. "How do you understand him?"

"I don't," she replied with a grin. "I just smile and nod." She looked to Trip and they both laughed. Mra, quite perplexed by this, gave them a confused look. Unas merely chuckled to himself.

The Phantom began to curve through a low canyon. The flaps on either side lowered, allowing the wind to begin flowing through. This was the sort of work the craft excelled at, especially in the hands of a decent pilot like San. He wove the Phantom through the canyon at a fast clip, beneath the troublesome flack fire. The humans and Elites aboard breathed a little easier.

Trip looked over his sniper rifle, making sure that all the jostling hadn't interfered with something. Nothing seemed out of place. Trip gave a satisfied grin, then looked over his pistol. He would be relying on it until he was able to get to a satisfactory spot to snipe from. It was just as important as his rifle, maybe even more so. The pistol would save him if some ungodly critter got around behind him with murderous notions. That is, if the Elites didn't get them first.

Trip looked at the two aliens. He'd killed plenty of their kind during the past ten years, enough to know that they were hard to beat. Now they were on the same side. Trip didn't mind. Some people kept their fingers on their triggers when an Elite went by, but not him. He knew that the Elites weren't the face of the Covenant, just a former part of it. If they wanted to wipe out the Covenant for replacing them with the Brutes, then Trip didn't mind working with them. Wiping out the Covenant was a pretty good goal in his eyes.

So he didn't mind that he'd been selected to work with the Elites during this mission. He believed them when they said they were willing work with humanity against the Covenant, even if he couldn't express that believe very eloquently. He felt it in his gut, the same gut that had saved him from an ambush back on Reach. It had yet to steer him wrong.

"Commander, I see a landing zone," San said from the pilot's seat, interrupting Trip's train of thought.

Unas stood and looked out at the desert landscape. "Yes, I see it as well. Land there. We can find a suitable sniping position from there."

The Phantom began to reduce its speed and come in towards the ground. Trip slung his sniper rifle over his back and took the safety off his pistol. Morrigan pumped a round into her shotgun. Mra rolled his head a little to loosen himself up, then drew his plasma rifle.

The Phantom sat down. Trip hopped out, his boots sinking a little into the fine desert sand. He grimaced again.

Morrigan looked over at Trip as she hopped out. "Something wrong, sir?"

"Durn sand. Gonna get 'n everthin', 'cludin' mah gun."

Morrigan laughed and shook her head. "Remind me never to take you for a day at the beach."

"Ah migh' consider it if you was tah wear a bikini an' bring me a beer."

"In your Cro-Magnon dreams, sir," Morrigan replied as the two Elites hopped out of the Phantom.

"Quickly, up that path," Unas said, pointing ahead at a trail that went up out of the canyon. "We must not be here for Marriallus's troops to find."

Trip and Morrigan nodded and began to make their way up the path. San took off in the Phantom behind them, pulling back to wait for them to call for an extraction. It was warm and dry, and soon beads of sweat formed on Trip's forehead. He pressed on though. He wouldn't be put back by a little heat.

At last they reached the top of the canyon. Trip looked around. Rolling hills of dunes squatted to the left. Ahead of him a clump of rocks sat at the edge of another cliff, just a few hundred yards away.

Unas pointed at it. "The enemy camp is below that cliff. We will use those rocks as a vantage point."

"Les' hoof it then," Trip remarked as he jogged towards the rock. The others followed after him.

When they reached the rocks, Trip holstered his pistol and unslung his rifle. Morrigan took out a wide canvas cloth and spread it out on the ground. Trip laid out with the sniper rifle on the cloth, while the Elites took up covering positions behind him.

Morrigan looked over the camp with a pair of binoculars, laying out beside Trip. "We looking for the most ornate one?"

"Yes," Unas replied.

Trip looked down at the camp through the scope. It was nothing special. A few crates of weapons sat clustered around a singer Brute vehicle, a Prowler. A collection of Jackals and Brutes moved about within them. A decent field camp, one that could be moved around at a moment's notice.

"Shit," Morrigan cursed. "He's behind that vehicle."

"Well, ah cain't hit 'em thur," Trip remarked. He scanned the vehicle again, to try to see if he could find this Marriallus. Nothing.

"Patience," Unas said. "He will make himself apparent."

Trip grumbled but kept his scope on the Prowler. He didn't need to be told about patience. One knew about that sort of thing when sniping. Everything about it breathed patience. Trip could attest to that. He had spent many long days and nights waiting for targets of opportunity. Cramped legs, jars of piss, power naps, he knew all these things. If anything, this mission itself was the impatient thing, flying out to quickly kill one commander. Assassination, not sniping. That was what this was.

At last, Trip saw him step out from behind the vehicle. He seemed a great tower, with an ornate helmet upon his head. He had great power within him. It seemed to roll off of him. Trip grinned. These were the best targets. When they died, those who they led seemed to die as well. They scattered, ran, caught in defeat. Trip liked seeing that.

He brought the crosshairs of the scope up Marriallus's body, up towards his head. He breathed slow and even; hands steady, face calm. Spit formed in his mouth but he did not swallow. He would not disrupt the flow of this moment.

Trip centered the dot on Marriallus's head. Here it was. He centered himself now, brought himself to that calm state essential for a good, clean kill. All was ready. Trip breathed in; paused. He exhaled, and with that exhale pulled the trigger. The Brute's helmet and head shattered into several pieces. Blood splattered across the surroundings in a single, violent eruption. The nearby troops instantly scattered.

"Gunk 'n' gibs," Trip said with a grin.

"He is dead?" Unas asked.

"Confirmed," Morrigan said as she popped up and turned around. Trip gathered up his sniper rifle and slung it over his back.

"Then let us depart," Mra growled, looking around.

"Commander," said the voice of San through a communications device on Unas's helmet, "Commander, there are Brutes heading up the path behind you."

"How many?" Unas asked.

"Three. I count three of them."

Unas looked to the humans. "We were not so undetected it would seem. Let us do battle then."

Trip drew his pistol as the first Brute came up over the edge of the path. This distance was too close to properly use the rifle. Hopefully the Elites would be able to take out most of the enemy at range. Unas's carbine looked well suited for the task.

The Elite commander began firing his weapon. The shots impacted on the shields of the Brutes downrange. They roared and shot back. Two of them had spikers, but one had a carbine like Unas's. Trip kept his head down. He did not have shields like the Elites did. If that Brute decided to aim for him, he'd get perforated pretty quickly. Morrigan took his cue as well.

The Brutes came running forward. Mra chuckled in his throat at this. "Yes, filth, come," he taunted. "We shall break your bones."

The Brutes roared as they came. When they were in range Mra opened fire with his plasma rifle. The blue-hot projectiles danced across the shields of the Brute with the carbine, swiftly lowering them. Unas took this advantage and fired for a headshot. He got it, and the Brute fell to the earth.

The more lethal foe felled, Mra charged forward. He seemed to sing something in his own language, for Trip did not understand what it meant. He knew enough to know that it was a battle song though. The Elite fired as he ran, stripping the shields from one of the Brutes. It threw away its weapon in anger and charged forward at Mra.

The Elite lowered his shoulder and hit the Brute in the belly, like Trip had seen linemen in football games do. The Brute flew back a foot or two, but soon came at the Elite swinging, not even winded by that impact. Mra evaded the clumsy strikes in a flurry of blue. Something white flashed in his hand, and with one swift motion the Brute's head was severed from his body. A knife, a small replica of the energy swords that Trip had seen some high ranking Elites wield, was protruding from Mra's gauntlet.

This foe vanquished, Mra turned to the other Brute, who was now charging towards him, eager to avenge the death of his comrade. The Elite fired his plasma rifle one handed, stripping the shield from him. He rolled aside to avoid the Brute's charge.

"End him!" he growled, turning back towards the others.

Trip and Morrigan took this as their cue. They fired on the Brute with the SMG and pistol. He jerked violently as bullets riddled his body. The vicious barrage forced him to his knees. But the SMG and the pistol ran dry before he died. The Brute looked up at them with a grin. A shot from Unas's carbine cut it short though, splattering his brains across the sand.

"Nice shot," Trip remarked.

Unas merely nodded at this. He looked to Mra, who now walked over to them. "Your prowess grows, brother."

"I am glad you noticed," Mra commented. He looked over to Trip and Morrigan. "You two fought well. Better than an Unggoy, anyway. Keep fighting with me and you'll learn something."

Morrigan gave a small chuckle. "You're full of yourself, squidlip," she said.

"Ah, but he knows he's good," Trip remarked, slapping a fresh magazine into his pistol before he holstered it. "Thin' is, can he outshoot me?"

A light flashed in Mra's eyes. For a moment Morrigan stepped back, afraid that Trip had said something to anger the Elite. But, to the surprise of the humans, Mra's mandibles formed into something reminiscent of a smile.

"Keep with us, and we shall see," he said. "It is a worth challenge."

Trip laughed as the Phantom swooped in to pick them up. "Well 'en, that's not somethin I can refuse. Yer on."

Unas pushed past them, leading everyone onto the Phantom. Word was coming in over the command channel that forces were being redirected to another part of the disk, where the Prophet of Truth had gone. Trip grinned at this. Maybe that battle would give him a chance to one-up the Elite. It was a cheering prospect.


End file.
